Apologize
by Cherie Dennis
Summary: He could smell the cologne on her  cheap, unflattering, nothing close to what he wore. [[Leyton oneshot. Not a happy ending.]]


**Apologize**

Title: Apologize.

Author: Cherie Dennis.

Summary: He could smell the cologne on her; cheap, unflattering, nothing close to what he wore. She slipped from his arms, giving him a brief kiss on the cheek, and he felt his stomach fall. She'd been far too distant lately and he was just about over it.

Rating: T, for brief (very brief) mention of sexual activities.

Pairings: Lucas Scott/Peyton Sawyer with mentions of Peyton Sawyer/Chris Keller.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. At all.

**Author's Note:** It's not a happy Leyton fic. I don't particularly like them, so it doesn't have a happy ending. Sorry to all those Leyton fans! And it was inspired by One Republic's song, "Apologize." And it's completely un-beated, so any mistakes are my own. And I wrote it for the theme, "Exhausted" for 100moods.

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He could smell the cologne on her; cheap, unflattering, nothing close to what he wore. She slipped from his arms, giving him a brief kiss on the cheek, and he felt his stomach fall. She'd been far too distant lately and he was just about over it.

She'd been "working late" again at work, putting in extra hours for the record company, but her last paycheck was actually a few hours short of her normal pay. And they paid over time.

He watched her set the Chinese takeout containers on the counter, then move over to the fridge to get something to drink. "You want anything?" she asked and he shook his head.

He'd noticed her pulling away a while ago; Brooke had come into town to visit and the two were civil towards one another. She'd come to see Haley, Nathan and James, which meant that she'd run into Lucas. And, since he was the nice guy everyone loved for his wonderful manners, he invited her to crash at their apartment instead of the overpriced hotel that was just down the street. She was hesitant at first, what with their history and the fact that he was living with Peyton now, but she decided to stay.

And that was when he first started to notice the hours Peyton was putting in. She'd get up early, at least two hours before she actually had to be to work, and then would stay until way past dark. And he'd rarely eat without her. He'd even gone as far as fixing her a romantic dinner for their anniversary, figuring she'd get out of work early (the overtime would cover the few hours), so one could only imagine his surprise when she came through the door around 11:30. She was flustered and laughed nervously when she noticed the candles that melted away to nothing and the cold plates of food sitting on the table. There was a glass full of flat champagne, but the bottle was nowhere to be found.

He figured it was Brooke when it first started; assumed Peyton didn't want to be around her ex-best friend more than she needed to be. But Brooke, when Peyton was around, didn't bring up the past. It was obvious that New York had done the brunette good; she'd forgiven them for their past actions and was now more mature than she had been the last time Lucas saw her, walking away from the teenager-filled house with her then boyfriend, Chase Adams.

But things didn't change when Brooke went home. If anything, they got worse. And Lucas sat back, watching as Peyton slowly pulled further away from him. "Stressful clients," she would say. "They demand so much, and since they're world-famous artists, we have to cater to their every need." Even if it meant going out at two in the morning, Lucas finished in his mind.

Now, he watched her grab a few plates from the cupboard, stretching up onto her tiptoes to reach the top shelf. There were faint red marks on her lower back, as if she'd scratched against something, or someone. Lucas's eyes traveled over them for a moment before he looked away; it wasn't possible, was it?

"Orange chicken or sesame beef?" she asked, pulling out the drawer to grab some silverware.

He could feel his heart stop in his chest as realization sunk in. "The truth," he said softly, arms crossing over his chest.

Peyton turned to look at him, mock-confusion on her face. "The truth? I think they took that off the menu," she joked, brushing off the look he was giving her and focusing on opening the tubs of steaming, Chinese food.

He took two steps forward, gripping the edge of the island, staring at her until she finally looked up into his eyes. "Peyton," he said slowly, as if sounding out the name to make sure he pronounced it correctly.

She took in a breath and looked away. "Don't, Lucas. Please."

He wanted to smack her, strangle her, crawl into her brain and pull the information he needed. "Turn around," he demanded, and the tone of his voice made her look back to him. She was truly confused this time, and he merely glared at her. "Turn around," he said again.

When she didn't bug, he moved around the island in record time. "Lucas, what the hell are you doing?" she cried, her hand flying back to keep her shirt down.

The scratch marks were all over, red and garish against her pale skin. He scowled and dropped her shirt, "Who did this to you?" He watched as tension rose in her shoulders and he practically growled at her. "Who, Peyton? Because we haven't had sex, especially that passionately, in over six months. What in the hell is going on?"

She let her head fall down, her eyes brimming with tears. "Lucas, don't do this, okay?"

He moved away from her, disgusted, and made his way to the hall closet. "I'm sorry," she whispered, but he pretended he didn't hear. He shoved his arms through the sleeves of his coat and stuffed his feet into his shoes, not even bothering to tie them. He grabbed his cell phone and keys from the table beside the couch, turning once to look at Peyton. She looked small and fragile, and he could see the regret in her eyes.

"Tell me who it was," he said, his blue eyes flaming with disbelief.

She shook her head, blonde curls falling over her shoulders. He had been so happy when she decided to grow her hair out again. He had always liked it long; the way it cascaded over her shoulders, the way it splayed out over their pillows, the way that he could run his fingers through it when she fell asleep with her head in his lap.

He felt sick at the memories.

"Tell me."

With the fork that was still in her hand, she poked at the orange chicken. Her eyes looked up and around the room, anywhere but him, and he knew she was trying to lie again. How did he not see this coming? How did he not notice that she'd been seeing someone else all this time? He had been stupid – figured she was always tired because of the stress of her job, never in the mood for anything because she was so overworked.

"Chris Keller," she whispered, setting the fork down. He didn't stick around long enough to hear her say anything else.


End file.
